Mockingbird
by JaerWolfe
Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This takes place several years after the Crumbling Wall.**

* * *

 _"Mockingbird, mockingbird, quiet and still, what do you see from the top of that hill?"_

A sword thrust to the gut couldn't have caused more pain than the sweet child's voice singing prettily outside the stable. Bent over, trying to breathe, he sank beneath memories stark and bloody.

 _"Can you see up? Can you see down?"_

Denial managed to help him find air at last, sucking in loud, gasping breaths. Desperation had him shaking his head, reminding himself that he was no longer that man.

 _"Can you see the dead things all about town?"_

Shoving past the panic, past the numbing fear, he stomped around the corner and continued toward the small group of children playing. "Stop singing that song!" The words were a roar that held pain and fear and guilt.

Stunned faces looked up at him. The most confused had big round eyes that looked exactly like his own and her expression began to crumple.

"It's just a song, Daddy…"

"It isn't just a song and you aren't to sing it anymore, Taira!" He couldn't help the fury spilling from his voice even as those eyes turned sad and began to fill. "Just do as you're told!" Not sure what he would do next, certain he couldn't be trusted, Blackwall stomped off, his direction uncertain, just knowing he had to get away before he did something else. Something worse.

"Thom." Her voice was a soothing balm over a wound that still burned but he denied himself the comfort, brushing off the Inquisitor's hand that reached for him.

"Look after the little one. I need…" He shook his head and continued on, losing the words in the murky depths of his hated memories.

"Mommy, Daddy was mean!" A tear soaked voice cried driving the spike of guilt deeper into his soul, clashing with the memories of another, similar high pitched voice calling for her Daddy even as soldiers mad with blood shattered the door on the carriage she was in.

Sweet Andraste, he couldn't do this. Couldn't hear the innocence of his daughter's voice without having it distorted by the screams of a dying child. A child he had killed just as surely as if he had put the blade to her himself.

He needed out. He needed gone. Somewhere where the taint of his memories, of the blood that stained his hands, wouldn't continue to hurt the beautiful daughter he didn't deserve to have. That he was terrified would be taken from him because he was certain the Maker wasn't done punishing him and what sweeter revenge than to have his own daughter slaughtered for his crimes.

"I know, darling. Daddy isn't feeling well right now." Came the soothing response and Blackwall's first signs of hope.

She wouldn't allow anyone to harm their daughter. She would protect Taira no matter what and she had an entire army willing to back her up to do it.

She would never allow Taira's screams to become like those of…

Cursing under his breath, Blackwall found his destination and marched straight for the pub. It had been some time, but he remembered. Drinking would dull the memories, the pain. Drinking wouldn't keep him from hearing the screams, but it would numb him to them.

* * *

She entered the darkened pub with steps that were cautious in the dim visibility. She'd ordered the guards at the gate to let her know if he left Skyhold and their silence told her there were other, more likely places that he was hiding himself in.

His absence at dinner hadn't surprised her, but Taira had asked questions that she wasn't sure she knew how to answer. Like how a children's counting song could make her beloved Daddy so mad. She could honestly say she had never thought about what they would tell their children about Blackwall's past. It had been a non-issue for her. Something that had happened in the past and should be left there. But even she wasn't naïve enough to believe that Blackwall had ever put it behind him. No, there were too many nightmares after Taira's birth for her to have ever believed he'd finally found peace.

That he'd finally forgiven himself.

"Thought you'd be along sooner rather than later." The accented voice came from the shadows but she recognized him before seeing the faint light glare off his bald plate.

"Mornay." She gave a nod to him. "He's here then?"

Mornay pointed to a corner where a low burning candle showed two large casks of ale and a dark shadow sprawled out beneath them.

She made a huffing noise that could have meant anything and nothing. "Good thing he's a cheap drunk." She drawled but made no effort to move closer.

"The swill's cheap…the quantity is not." Mornay moved to her side. "He'll regret it, come waking."

"Will he?" She countered, her eyes closing briefly. "Or will he crawl back to the bottle that gives him comfort?"

Mornay looked up at her, surprised. "Isn't comfort he drinks, Lady Inquisitor. It's oblivion. It's forgetfulness. It's the only place you can run from yourself…even if it's just for a little while. When he wakes up, he'll remember."

"I thought…" The words trailed off under a weight of grief and uncertainty.

Mornay turned his attention back to the snoring lump under the casks. "That he'd gotten over it? That he'd forgotten it? That he'd put it behind him?" The skinny man shrugged. "There's a sweet kind of hell in forgiveness, Lady. In walking around basking in the respect and honor those who serve with you feel you've earned. The age old question comes…do I tell them or do I let them believe I'm an honorable man?"

She made a soft noise and looked away from the sight of both, as if ashamed.

"Some days it's about the job, about the work that needs doing, no matter who's doing it." Another one shoulder shrug. "Some days it's distant…like you can almost believe it happened to another person. Other days you hear children sing and you're back there again, reliving the whole thing only no matter how much you want to change the outcome, to do the right thing, the memories are of the past and nothing you can do will change what happened."

"What do I do?" She asked finally. "How do I help him? Help you?"

Eyes bright in the dim light focused on her. "Do, Lady? There is no 'do'." He made a grunting noise and turned for the door. "There's just living with it." He finally answered and walked out.

Closing her eyes against the silent, thick tears that still managed to escape, she raised a hand to her head. She could cry about the unfairness of it all…that she had done nothing wrong and yet she was made to suffer along with him during his dark times, but she had known from the beginning these times would come. She had known this was something he would always carry and that if she were to be part of his life, she had to carry it as well. It was delusion that always convinced her that the last bad time would be the last time.

Or maybe it was hope.

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes again and carefully made her way in the dim light to the unconscious man sprawled on the sticky floor. She spent several moments adjusting his body to a more gentle loll and finally sat herself, shifting his head onto her lap where careless fingers could stroke through graying hair as she contemplated the man she could not imagine her life without. Or the child he had given her.

Sometimes she wished she could go back in time and tell Thom Rainier not to take that bribe, not to play assassin. Things could be so much different if those deaths had not occurred. Then logic would rear its pragmatic head and point out that the very incident that she wished to change was the one that defined the man she loved. His lack of action then had led to his very determined action to never be that man again. To never stand aside as that man had. To be the hero that man had never believed he could be.

"You can't steal a past without stealing a future." She said to the sleeping features her fingers now traced the edges of.

He mumbled something and turned toward her, adjusting to a more comfortable position as love washed over her and threatened to drown her with tears.

"But can you heal a future?" She asked, the words hoarse with emotion as she pressed her lips to his forehead and simply let the emotion fall from her eyes.

No answer came.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke with a familiar ache in his skull, an unwelcome kink in his back and the most luscious pillow he'd ever had the honor of sleeping on. Opening his eyes, flinching at even the dim light, he squinted and finally managed to focus on the beloved face above him.

"Have you been here all night?" The words quickly became whisper loud but the roughness of his dry mouth grew only worse as he spoke.

Eyes he hoped were red from lack of rest and not something else studied him. "I'd rather this floor be our bed and have it shared than stay alone on the softest of feather ticks." She answered in mild tones.

With a soft groan he buried his face against her as if to hide.

"How is your head?" She asked after a long moment of quietly strumming her fingers through his thick hair once more.

"A pair of demons are banging about like dwarves in a blacksmith shop." He finally answered pushing back from and taking a deep breath. "Gods, I reek."

"That you do." She agreed with a smiling laugh as he climbed to his feet, put one hand to his throbbing head and the other extended down to help her stand. "That isn't, however, your biggest problem."

His wince of pain turned to a piercing look as he studied her, trying to gauge if she were mad at him or not. "It isn't?"

"Your daughter can't decide if she is very cross with you or if you are very cross with her. You didn't come tuck her in last night." Came the droll reply.

Thom grimaced. "I'll make it up to her." He said quietly as they moved side by side for the door. "After I've dunked my head in a trough."

She glanced at him. "We have a perfectly good bathing area in our room." She pointed out.

"Up all those stairs?" He asked with a shudder. "I'll never make it."

She laughed quietly and then paused as he pulled her to a stop, staring seriously into her eyes, his own full of misery and regret.

"I am sorry." He said with a quiet rumble.

She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking the hairs growing there. "I know. I just wish I knew how to make it better for you."

He stepped closer to her, pressing his forehead against her own. "You do make it better, my Lady. You always have."

"But I can't make the bad memories stay away, Thom. I would if I could." She with a grieving regret, as if she had failed him in some way.

"No." He shook his head taking her hands and holding them against his chest, squeezing. "The memories serve a purpose. Even when they hurt. They are a reminder. A promise. Those memories are what steel my resolve to never again allow to happen what I allowed that day. I need those memories."

"I hate seeing them hurt you." She shook her head, her eyes filling.

He pressed his lips against her palm. "And I hate that they cause those tears. I am sorry, my Lady."

She smiled as if deciding they'd been maudlin enough and began to tug him out the door once more. "I am not the one that is disappointed right now. Your daughter was very perturbed that she didn't get her reading last night."

Thom stopped midstep and closed his eyes. "What do I tell her? How do I tell her that her father isn't the man he pretends to be…"

"You are the man you choose to be, Thom." She cut him off, her tone firm and full of love. "You were a different man, a long time ago."

"She'll learn. Someday." He continued stubbornly.

The Inquisitor gave a shrug of her shoulders. "We'll tell her. Together. Honestly. Better she hear it from us than anyone else. But not today. She's too young to understand."

"Are you certain?" He hesitated again. "Taira's a brilliant child. Gets that from her mother."

Laughing softly, her mother leaned closer. "Oh, I think there's a good deal of that she gets from her father. He was smart enough to fall in love with me, wasn't he?" She teased.

He cupped her cheeks in the palms of his big, calloused hands pulling her close before laying a gentle siege to her mouth, questing deep and long until his headache was a distant echo. "More and more each day, my Lady. And blessed beyond words or comprehension that you'd return that love to the broken wreck that I was."

Maybe that was the answer, she mused tilting her head to study him, her expression thoughtful. She couldn't fix his past, couldn't guard his dreams and prevent the memories that gave him nightmares. All she could do was love him. During the tough times, during the bleak self doubt and haunting regret that battered him. When he couldn't love himself, she could until he remembered how.

Smiling, she gave him a quick kiss before looping her arm through his. "I love you, Thom."


	3. Chapter 3

"That cannot be good for your health."

Thom whipped his head up, the thick, soaking wet hair flipping through the air, splattering water drops about with careless glee.

"I spent a good many years in the wild living off the land and it didn't kill me." He pointed out in his deep gravelly tones as he took the towel she offered. "A trough of water won't do me in."

"It's not the water I worry so much about as the trip through the cold mountain air to get to our rooms." She countered.

"With this pelt of hair, I'll be fine..."

 _"Mockingbird, mockingbird, quiet and still, what do you see from the top of that hill?"_

Both of them turned to the children's voices that could be heard singing outside the stable.

"Stop that!" The high pitched demand was nearly a screech. "My daddy doesn't like that song!"

"Who cares?" A boy's voice returned. "I can sing whatever I want. _Can you see up? Can you see down?_ "

"You better stop or I'll make you!" There was no screech this time, just an absolute promise that had both parents moving to a better view site.

 _"Can you see the dead things all about town?"_

From the shadowed bay of the stable both mother and father watched as their darling princess pulled back her fist and smacked the taller, bigger boy on the jaw.

"She gets that from you." Thom said without missing a beat.

She turned her head, her expression unamused. "If she'd had it from me, I would have taught her to keep her thumb out so as not to break it."

The larger boy gave a howl and tackled Taira into the dirt scrambling to put a hold on her and punch the nose of their darling princess. With a flipping move of her hip that had both parents raising eyebrows, Taira tossed the boy onto his back before promptly kneeling on his arms and punching him in the face. Over and over again.

"Now that, she got from me." Thom said with no little amount of pride.

"We'd better…" The Inquisitor began, shifting at first only to still as movement caught her eye. Keeping a hold on Thom's arm she jutted her chin motioning to the large man in armor stomping down the stairs.

"What in the name of the Maker is going on here!" The question roared across the courtyard as Cullen reached down and physically pulled Taira off the older boy.

"He started it!" Taira immediately shrieked. "He didn't do what I said!"

Thom made a grunting noise low in his throat. "Gets that from you as well." He pointed out and earned a pinch from her.

The older boy, now free of the child's weight, quickly scrambled to his feet and ran away, blood streaming from his nose.

"Taira Blackwall, you can't solve your problems by attacking them!" Cullen rasped at her in exasperated tones.

Her expression took on a stubborn cant as she looked at him suspiciously. "That's what you do."

He grimaced, flattening his lips together. "That is different. I lead the armies of the Inquisition."

"And I lead my friends." Taira said with a nod as if that explained everything and they were now completely in accord.

"You can't lead by punching them!" Cullen tried again.

"He wouldn't stop! He was singing that song that hurts my daddy and he wouldn't stop so I stopped him!" Taira countered.

"By punching him!" Cullen stated with exasperation.

Taira made a huffing noise.

"Oh, she gets that from you." Her mother informed her father in arched tones from their hidden spot.

"That's because you won't let me have a sword!" Taira informed Cullen as if the matter were now all his fault.

Cullen's features went a bit white as a stark look of fear flashed across his face. "You can't solve disagreements with swords, Taira!"

Her eyes narrowed again. "You do! When you don't like what one of your soldiers is doing you take your sword and you beat them!"

"I am teaching them the correct way!" Cullen tried to keep from yelling his exasperation.

"So am I!" Taira matched his volume with righteous indignation.

"It's not the same thing!" Cullen snarled.

All fight in the girl suddenly fled as an expression of misery cast over her. Her lower lip began to tremble. "Are you mad at me, Unca Cullie?" She asked in a weeping voice.

"Oh, this is new." Blackwall said with interest and skepticism as he watched fat tears roll down his daughter's cheeks.

"She didn't get that from me." The Inquisitor said leaning forward. "Maybe Josephine? Or Leliana."

Blackwall made a snorting noise. "Probably Varric." His Lady made an agreeing sound and nodded.

Sagging, Cullen crouched in front of the slender girl. "No, Taira, I'm not mad. But you can't go around hitting those that disagree with you."

"You are mad at me." She said and burst into heartbreaking sobs.

Panic crested white on Cullen's handsome features. "Please stop." He begged. "I'm not mad. I promise. If you stop I'll let you play in my office while I do my paperwork."

The flood of tears became a trickle and she blinked large eyes up at him. "Can I play with your knives?"

"No, you cannot…" Cullen snapped immediately and the flood returned in a new wave.

"You are mad at me!" She sobbed and tossed her arms around the leg nearest to her. "Please don't be mad at me, Unca Cullie. I don't like it when you're mad."

Cullen stared desperately around him as if searching for a lifeline to pull him out but those who had been watching were now quickly occupied with other matters and avoiding his gaze. The parents of the wailing girl were conveniently out of sight behind him. "Taira, I'm not mad. I promise." In desperation he finally pulled her off his leg. "Yes, yes you can play with the knives. _Carefully_ play with the knives!"

The storm of sadness ended and brilliant rays of sunshine filled her face the form of a wide smile as she wrapped her arms about him. "Oh, Unca Cullie, I love you!"

Resigned, he picked her up in one arm and began carrying her back toward his office.

"Can I play with your fur mantle, too? I want to pretend I'm you and order people around." Taira chirped cheerfully.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand as if his head hurt. "You are so much like your mother."

"Hmph." The Lady in question sniffed. "I hope she paints that mantle blue."


End file.
